


Seen Unseen

by threewalls



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Community: kink_bingo, In Public, Orgasm Denial, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame becomes distracted while filming the PV for LIPS.</p><p>"At the storyboard meeting, however many hours ago, they had a nice man explaining that they'd CG in coiling, winding, whip-quick microphone-cord-snake-vine things later, all with an innocence that was hard to believe when you'd seen these microphone stands."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seen Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink_bingo square: tentacles.  
> This is a fictional story involving non-fictional people.
> 
> Written with thanks to jtriskell for answering my questions about KAT-TUN, and for showing me all the PVs, but particularly [LIPS](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRNinDY3oiY). (Kame is the one right at the start, in the black fedora and black eyeliner.)

Kame licks his lips; can't lick the microphone. He fits his fingers to the grooves in the microphone case; can't put them in his mouth to suck. He bends half backwards, feet apart behind the microphone stand; can't straddle the stand, can't let his hips thrust. There's a line Kame can't cross; he can't see it anymore. But the staff keep saying, "yes, good, just like that," between takes, right until they say "cut," and then Kame can only nod at his bandmates as they all step off the stage, smile and nod.

Some girl from make-up frets about the colour in his face, complains about the heat of the lights, the colour of his jacket. Kame almost offers to take it off, but some guy has already handed him a waterbottle with his name written on it. The cool water soothes his throat, but his lips still feel warm. He drinks quickly, so the girl can retouch his lip liner.

It's-- easier between takes, whatever these crazy feelings are. Too little sleep, too little food, it'd make anyone a little crazy, but Kame's never had hallucinations like this.

There's no plot to this PV, just the hard rock feel of the music. And rock means sex without saying the word. Nakamaru said it first, when they'd all stepped onto the metal forest set, when the microphone stands all still had their names attached. They're kind of really sleazy, thick spiralling wires topped by metal flowers, long and thick as the microphones they encased. At the storyboard meeting, however many hours ago, they had a nice man explaining that they'd CG in coiling, winding, whip-quick microphone-cord-snake-vine things later, all with an innocence that was hard to believe when you'd seen these microphone stands. Once you noticed, it was hard not to think about their shape. Maybe that was when Kame started feeling _them_, or just that itch of knowing something was coming. He can't remember.

They've been filming for hours; they'll be filming for hours yet. Without a watch, Kame has no idea what time it is, how much longer he has to last, but it was pitch black outside the last time he went outside for a cigarette. They're down to solo close-ups on the second set, high, twining metal trees in front and behind them-- so maybe it's down to a number of hours he can count on one hand. The "K" in KAT-TUN goes first.

Kame caresses his lips with his thumb; can't bite. He rips his fedora off his head, shakes his hair; can't touch his face, his neck, his throat. He's sweating as if this were a concert: bright lights, dark clothes, but also something more. Kame's glad there's no dancing in this one. It's enough for his lips to hold onto the lyrics as they lip-synch.

It makes no sense, but he's tired enough to go with the inspiration wherever it's coming from. The director yells "cut", and tells Kame that's the last of this set, it's excellent, and Kame nods, thanks him and bows bending to the side of the microphone stand. The metal is warm in his hands, he's been holding on for so long, but with the music off, it no longer feels like it's humming. Or alive.

Kame walks down off the set, amazed that his legs can walk, that his feet feel so light. Because Kame can feel them, right now, and has since whenever; clock time doesn't exist until they finish filming; they're stuck in the four minutes fifteen of the song.

It's bizarre and unreal and hasn't gone away, snake-vine-tentacles like the microphone stands, like the supple, smooth-striking ones from the PV storyboards that don't and won't ever really exist, creeping up his body with every repeated chorus. By now, he can feel them wrapped around his legs, his waist, and curving up under one arm. They don't restrict his movement at all, just make his clothes feel stretched tight against his body, as they wind between the fabric and his skin, touching him everywhere he can't touch until filming wraps.

Or, don't, because there's nothing to see, no outline beneath his clothes, just the feel of them, the touch too much weight, the slight roughness of their texture, like overlapping scales or the rough weave of metal cord. They're not there on the screen when Kame checks over his footage. While the others film their solos, Kame tries taking pictures of the set, of the others, because taking pictures of his own trousers would just draw attention he doesn't want. But the pictures show nothing, no moving metal anywhere, even as Kame feels their sleepy weight begin to throb in time with the beat whenever the song plays over the set speakers.

The others don't look like they're feeling it. Taguchi falls asleep, like usual, and so does Koki. Nakamaru was the one to say the stands looked sleazy, and Ueda was there when he said it; Kame was the one to say wait and see. If he asks them about this, he'll just sound like a pervert. (Akanishi is a pervert, even if he's somehow the only one who doesn't seem to have noticed what the microphones look like. Kame doesn't want to be the one to tell him.) There's a Making Of camera on the set, and so far they almost look professional about all this. Professional enough, for KAT-TUN.

There are no cuts longer than four minutes fifteen. Kame breathes in, breathes out, in all the pauses between takes.

The worst is at the end of the shoot, when Kame is swinging the microphone stand across in front of his body. Something thick and white from the tip of the empty microphone-shell, soap suds, that arc through the air and leave the ground slippery. The weight and motion of the stand spins him. There's no music on for this, but the song's caught in his head, the beat in his pulse. They shoot a set with his fedora on, another with it off; Kame can feel the spray fall in light droplets on his face.

The director calls "cut," but the spray doesn't stop, and Kame is left holding the stand, still fountaining thick and white and if the _shape_ of the stands seemed sleazy, he really doesn't know what this part is. Rock, Kame guesses, watching himself spin on the small screen. He looks cool, more unaffected than he feels. He feels-- not high, not drunk, but not entirely present, either. Something he can't see feels like it's wrapped around his chest, tips curving up over his shoulders.

It was a good shoot, a fun shoot, and that's what Kame tells the Making Of camera in between thanking every member of staff he can see, as the cameras follow him to the curtain. He smiles and hopes they look forward to the finished PV and bows, and steps behind the black and out of sight. Someone needs to talk to them for longer. This PV, it can be Koki.

\---

MC  
22/08/10


End file.
